a field day; just as you were pleased with the mu"sic and the marching, and put on the cockade and "the red coat. All seems smooth for a little while. "He goes through the outward exercises of a Chris"tian, a degree of credit attends his new profession, "but he never suspects there is either difficulty or

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6.6

discipline attending it; he fancies religion is a thing "for talking about, and not a thing of the heart and "the life. He never suspects that all the psalmsinging he joins in, and the sermons he hears, and "the other means he is using, are only as the exer"cises and the evolutions of the soldiers, to fit and 66 prepare him for actual service; and that these means are no more religion itself, than the exer"cises and evolutions of your parade were real war"fare.

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"At length some trial arises. This nominal "Christian is called to differ from the world in some

great point; something happens which may strike "at his comfort, or his credit, or security. This "cools his zeal for religion, just as the view of an "engagement cooled your courage as a soldier."He finds he was only angry with the world, he

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was not tired of it. He was out of humour with "the world, not because he had seen through its va"nity and emptiness, but because the world was out "of humour with him. He finds that it is an easy "thing to be a fair-weather Christian, bold where "there is nothing to be done, and confident where "there is nothing to be feared. Difficulties unmask "him to others; temptations unmask him to him"self; he discovers, that though he is a high pro❝fessor, he is no Christian; just as you found out "that your red coat and your cockade, your shoul"der-knot, and your musket, did not prevent you "from being a coward,

❝ Your

Your misery in the military life, like that of the "nominal Christian, arose from your love of ease,

your cowardice, and your self-ignorance., You "rushed into a new way of life, without trying af"ter one qualification for it. A total change of "heart and temper were necessary for your new calling. With new views and new principles, the "soldier's life would have been not only easy

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but delightful to you. But while with a new profes ❝sion you retained your old nature, it is no wonder "if all discipline seemed intolerable to you.

"The true Christian, like the brave soldier, is "supported under dangers by a strong faith that the "fruits of that victory for which he fights will be "safety and peace. But, alas! the pleasures of this "world are present and visible; the rewards for "which he strives are remote. He therefore fails, "because nothing short of a lively faith can ever

ઃઃ

outweigh a strong present temptation, and lead a "man to prefer the joys of conquest to the pleasures "of indulgence."

BETTY BROWN,

THE

ST. GILES's ORANGE GIRL:

WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF

MRS. SPONGE, THE MONEY-LENDER,

BETTY BROWN, 'the Orange Girl, was born nobo

No

dy knows where, and bred nobody knows how. girl in all the streets of London could drive a barrow more nimbly, avoid pushing against passengers more dextrously, or cry her fine China Oranges' in a shriller voice. But then she could neither sew, nor spin, nor knit, nor wash, nor iron, nor read, nor spell. Betty had not been always in so good a situation as that in which we now describe her. She came into the world before so many good gentlemen and ladies began to concern themselves so kindly that the poor might have a little learning. There was no charitable society then, as there is now, to pick up poor friendless children in the streets*, and put them into a good house, and give them meat, and drink, and lodging, and learning, and teach them to get their bread in an honest way, into the bargain. The Philanthropic.

Whercas,

Whereas, this now is often the case in London; bles sed be God.who has ordered the bounds of our habitation, and cast our lot in such a country;

The longest thing that Betty can remember is, that she used to crawl up out of a night cellar, stroll about the streets, and pick cinders from the scavengers' carts. Among the ashes she sometimes found some ragged gauze and dirty ribbons; with these she used to dizen herself out, and join the merry bands on the first of May. This was not however quite fair, as she did not lawfully belong either to the female dancers, who foot it gaily round the garland, or to the sooty tribe, who, on this happy holiday, forget their whole year's toil in Portman square, cheered by the tender bounty of her whose wit has long enlivened the most learned, and whose taste and talents long adorned the most polished societies. Betty, however, often got a few scraps, by appearing to belong to both parties. But as she grew bigger, and was not an idle girl, she always put herself in the way of doing something. She would run of errands for the footmen, or sweep the door for the maid of any house where she was known; she would run and fetch some porter, and never was once known either to sip a drop by the way, or steal the pot. Her quickness and fidelity in doing little jobs, got her into favour with a lazy cook-maid who was too apt to give away her master's cold meat and beer, not to those who were most in want, but to those who waited upon her, and did the httle things for her which she ought to have done herself.

The cook, who found Betty a dextrous girl, soon employed her to sell ends of candles, pieces of meat and cheese, and lumps of butter, or any thing else she could crib from the house. These were all carried to her friend Mrs. Sponge, who kept a little shop, and a kind of eating-house for poor working

people,

people, not far from the Seven Dials. She also bought, as well as sold, many kinds of second hand things, and was not scrupulous to know whether what she bought was honestly come by, provided she could get it for a sixth part of what it was worth. But if the owner presumed to ask for its real value, then she had sudden qualms of conscience, instantly suspected the things were stolen, and gave herself airs of honesty, which often took in poor silly people, and gave her a sort of half reputation among the needy and the ignorant, whose friend she hypocritically pretended to be.

I

To this artful woman Betty carried the cook's pilferings; and as Mrs. Sponge would give no great price for these in money, the cook was willing to receive payment for her eatables in Mrs. Sponge's drinkables; for she dealt in all kinds of spirits. shall only just remark here, that one receiver, like Mrs. Sponge, makes many pilferers, who are tempted to commit these petty thieveries, by knowing how easy it is to dispose of them at such iniquitous houses.

Betty was faithful to both her employers, which is extraordinary, considering the greatness of the temptation, and her utter ignorance of good and evil. One day she ventured to ask Mrs. Sponge, if she could not assist her to get into a more settled way of life. She told her, that when she rose in the morning she never knew where she should lie at night, nor was she ever sure of a meal before-hand. Mrs. Sponge asked her what she thought herself fit for; Betty, with fear and trembling, said, there was one trade for which she thought herself qualified, but she had not the ambition to look so high; it was far above her humble views; this was, to have a barrow and sell fruit, as several other of Mrs. Sponge's customers did, whom she had often looked up to VOL. III.

P

with